A tough week...and treating oneself

Have you ever had one of those weeks where everything you touch turns to shit?. Well, this has been one of those weeks.

I won't bore you with the details (and believe me, they are very boring) but needless to say that I managed a total of 1 lunch break all week (not bad going compared so some weeks, I admit) and every night was punctuated with "nocturnal moments" (lawyer-speak for waking at about 3am bathed in cold sweat at the thought of what might go wrong on one of your files).

Three-completions-at-five-to-five-on-a-Friday later and it is, at last, the weekend! I almost don't know what to do with myself I am so excited at the thought (although an early dinner out with Mr E, followed by Ugly Betty is a good start).

This week has got me thinking about the need to compensate oneself after a hard week. I remind myself that if I want to earn the money I earn, I have to accept some degree of stress. Fair enough. But that makes it even more important to treat yourself when you can.

My "compensation" began mid-week (during my one and only lunch break) when I took myself off to Howells. I often while away the odd (or should that be rare?) lunch hour in Howells. It is probably my favourite shop in Cardiff and almost makes you forget about the total lack of high end shops in what is meant to be a capital city.

Anyway, I was browsing in the Origins section, admiring the lovely-smelling things, when I fell into the radar of possibly the friendliest sales assistant I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I got away fairly lightly, with just a tube of White Tea Skin Guardian - and a whole bunch of freebies. It was a relatively small purchase, but it has given me such pleasure. I have been stroking my now baby-soft face with an (albeit fleeting) sense of yogic calm for the past three days.

Now, I don't advocate spending beyond your means, but I am a strong believer in saving to buy really lovely things every now and then. Almost everyone has their "essential luxuries". These are, of course, entireley personal - one person's basic, is another person's luxury, is another person's idea of hell.

For what it's worth, my essential luxuries are:

Monthly scalp massages at St David's Spa
Good chocolate from Charbonnel et Walker (Prestat is also good - although I would never turn my nose up at a bar of good old Cadbury's)
Proper cheese (a little of which goes a long way)
Anything from Fortnum & Mason
Aveda Shampoo and Shower Gel
Liz Earle and Origins skincare
Beautiful jewellery from wherever you find it

It almost makes it all worth it...

Conference Weirdness

I have spent much of the past week languishing in a hotel "oop-north" with 50 of my colleagues. It was the usual thing: Arrive late at night after a full day at work and a five hour journey and then don't so much as look out of the window, let alone go outside for two or three days. Apparently we had some bad weather this week, which I completely missed as a result of my imprisonment.

What is it about conferences that make twenty and thirty-something professional men think they are 17 again? I go to a few of these sort of events every year and every night without fail, the men will go out on the lash. Cue two dozen twenty five to thirty five year olds running amok around the hotel at 3am knocking on residents' doors "for fun" and vomiting in plant pots.

The next day the lads huddle as close to the door as possible, occasionally popping out "for some air" or "to take an important call from the office". Their eyes are bloodshot. Some even fall asleep on the table in front of them (or in the toilet). They are faced with the overwhelming urge to go back to bed and order room service. Yet in a sado-masochistic twist they must sit through seven hours of discussions on the VAT treatment of a lease surrender for a reverse premium. Hah!

I always think these sorts of events have an air of Big Brother about them (the Channel 4 show, that is). You are cooped up with a group of people you hardly know, you have no contact with the outside world, and are made to carry out all manner of strange tasks. On the down side (yes, it gets worse) you don't have the chance to vote anyone off and the chances of OK Magazine offering you a six-figure deal for your story are slim.

Still, at least you don't have to do the washing up.

Socialite Rank

I have come across the most entertaining US website: http://www.socialiterank.com

Socialite Rank is a sophisticated blog charting the highs and lows of the competitive New York social circuit. Nobody knows who is behind the site, which has led to much speculation across the pond. One featured socialite has reportedly even hired a private investigator to unveil the person(s) responsible, without success.

The busy socialites are rigorously assessed and ranked each month on the basis of the following stringent criteria:

1. Personal styles and designer relations (1-20 pts)
2. Press coverage in major publications and gossip columns (10 pts)
3. Appearances and commitment to events (10pts)
4. Hot factor- what makes each of the individuals sizzle with personality (10 pts)

What strikes me the most having read the articles (and especially the public comments which follow them) is how utterly obsessed the US appears to be with class. Discussions about what shoes one socialite wore to a fundraiser quickly turn into heated and venomous debates about whether their "breeding" befits their wealth and who their great great grandfather was.

My initial reaction to Socialite Rank was that the US were far more obsessed with class than the British. Otherwise, why would they be making such a fuss about it? In this country, for my generation at least, there is very little talk about class. But then it occurred to me that maybe that is because an awareness of class is so ingrained in us that we do not even need to discuss it; we just know it. You either have a title or you don't and that was probably settled hundreds of years ago. End of story. It reminds me of that sketch with John Cleese, Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett. We know our place. However, most of us also know that it doesn't matter. Success and class do not go hand in hand.

In the US the upper class is new and competition for the mantle of "aristocracy" is hot. The criteria are very much based on the notion of "old money" which, of course, compared to British old money, is new money. Without the aid of hereditary titles, 21st Century Americans are left to work (or fight) it out for themselves: hence sites like Socialite Rank. Much of US Class is based upon entrepreneurial wealth and there are a lot of wealthy entrepreneurs in the US. The problem, which Socialite Rank highlights so beautifully, is whether the descendants of an entrepreneur 100 years ago are to be considered more highly-bred than the children of an entrepreneur of the 1980s. The existing class system in the UK, of course, has had hundreds of years to mature, or fester, and so has much less to do with wealth. In 21st Century Britain you can be Richard Branson's daughter, but that will not make you an aristocrat. In the US being heir to an oil fortune or hotel chain might just get you in the door.

In the UK you get the odd aristo seeking a bit of celebrity every now and then (think Lady Victoria Hervey) and of course you get the odd celeb with delusions of aristocratic grandeur (think Victoria Beckham)- Their lives may be equally privileged, but each one knows on which side their bread is buttered, and so do we. In the US they would both be battling it out for the Socialite Rank Silver Spoon Award.

Ultimately, of course, your class doesn't make any difference if you are successful (take the Victorias above). As Imelda Marcos once said “‘Nouveau riche’ is better than ‘no riche’”.

Which Modern Bombshell are you most like?

You Are Most Like Dita Von Teese

“I love playing the part of the damsel in distress.”

What Modern Bombshell Are You Most Like?

I don't usually do these sorts of quizzes, much less so publicise my results. But when one is compared to the iconic Dita Von Teese it would be a shame not to share.

I have been fortunate enough to see Ms Von Teese perform in the flesh, and I was bowled over by her beauty and poise. At last, a woman who has made pale and interesting sexy.

To Spa, to Spa...

I have discovered the perfect antidote to post-new year excess: The St David's Spa in Cardiff.

I have a bad habit of thinking too far ahead. Three weeks ago I was ecstatic at the thought of my week off between Xmas and New Year and two weeks ago I started to feel blue at the prospect of going back to work on 2 January. I had experienced all of the highs and lows of my holiday before it had even started.

Knowing how I was likely to feel come New Year's Day, I took the initiative and booked myself in for a New Year's Day treatment at the St David's Spa. I am fortunate enough to live a short stroll away from the St David's - especially handy after a late night like last night. And so, this morning, while Mr E and our houseguests were still asleep (or in the whirly pit from what I hear), I crept out to get the new year off to a good start.

I am fairly new to the whole Spa malarky, so I am still getting up to speed on the rules of etiquette. However, I have quickly learned the importance of arriving early enough for your appointment and not rushing away at the end, so as to get the full benefit of the fluffy robes and relaxation room. I can now stretch a 30 minute treatment into a 90 minute indulgence. It really is a great way to spa on a budget.

The relaxation room at St David's has fabulous panoramic views over Cardiff Bay and the wetlands. After my treatment I decided I needed another half hour in the relaxation room - I didn't want the effects of my massage to rub off straight away and I was also hoping that the longer I left it, the higher the chances that Mr E would have done the washing up by the time I got home. A cup of peppermint tea later and I was ready to face the new year with renewed vigour.

I arrived home to find the washing up untouched. Never mind, I thought, I will eat something wholesome and healthy before clearing up. Only there was nothing healthy in the fridge, so I ended up eating the chocolate chip shortbread and Kettle Chips left over from last night. Well it is still Xmas.